


Means, Motive, Opportunity

by cutloosemcgoose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: By Season Three, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, F/M, Five Times, Implied Violence, Jossed, M/M, Manipulation, None of the relationships in this are explicit or particularly in-depth, Seduction for Information, Uninformed Consent, Very minor Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutloosemcgoose/pseuds/cutloosemcgoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And this was good, this was—he was in the best shape of his life, between lacrosse and werewolves, he’d finally grown his hair out a little, he was a catch. There was nothing holding him back. He could be suave; he could—toy with some girls, if he felt like it. Stiles winced. That sounded even worse in his head that he’d thought it would.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or, five times Stiles thought he was toying with some girls (and one time he was actually toying with Derek).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Means, Motive, Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> A few weeks ago, Dylan O’Brien mentioned in [an interview](http://blog.zap2it.com/frominsidethebox/2013/02/10-spoilers-stiles-teen-wolf-love-life-a-vampire-diaries-reunion-and-a-major-reveal-on-nikita.html) that “[Stiles is] gonna be toying with some new girls, you know what I’m saying?” and my knee-jerk response was, this is totally code for ‘gets hit on by females, thinks he’s got game, it turns out they’re all evil or morally ambiguous and want information or to use him as bait.’ And I couldn’t resist. This one is for [Verity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity). 
> 
> Warnings: The whole premise of this fic is that Stiles thinks he’s flirting with/hitting on various women, most of whom are actually using him to their own ends. So I would say there’s an overarching sense of dubious/uninformed consent in many, if not all of the sections. No sex occurs, but Stiles does get to second base with one character, in section one, before they stop, and she later kisses him against his will. 
> 
> More specific warnings: three female characters flirt with and try to seduce Stiles for their own purposes and, at first, Stiles reads all of their attempts as genuine, so elements of dubcon in sections one, three, and five. Stiles is restrained/tied up, against his will, by three characters, in sections one, two, and five. Warnings for violence, real (against Stiles) and implied (against Erica and the rest of the pack); blood and gore onscreen. 
> 
> If there's anything that I didn't warn for or tag, please let me know. If you're concerned about the subject matter, please let me know and I'll give you more specific details on what happens in the story. I'm cutloosemcgoose on livejournal and tumblr.

1\. Cora

After spending most of summer vacation convinced that he was going to be ripped apart every time he set foot outside his front door, Stiles entered junior year feeling pretty good about himself. 

For most values of good. There was still an alpha pack on the loose, trying to kill him and all his friends, they had no idea how to deal with any of it, and everyone was still trying to deal with the fallout from last June’s crazy epic showdown. Not to mention the addition of Cora, who had shown up out of nowhere, saved Isaac’s ass, and then basically attached herself to the pack because no one was going to survive on their own in Beacon Hills. 

If Erica had still been there (and oh, didn’t that just feel like a punch in the face), she would have hated Cora, because it was obvious that the newest addition to their ragtag group was attached to Isaac like no other. Stiles thought it was pretty cute, right up until he had a second to think, “Is that how I looked when I used to follow Scott around?” and then he just felt stupid. But apparently saving someone’s life created an intense bond for some werewolves (Stiles pointedly didn’t think about having saved Derek’s life, and vice versa), so even though Derek didn’t trust Cora like, at all, she was still, somehow, tentatively pulled under the widening umbrella of “pack.”

Which made it all the more surprising when Cora starting trying to hang out with Stiles. The first time she’d come up to him after a meeting and asked, “Hey, want to grab dinner?” Derek, Scott, and Isaac had all thrown him filthy looks. He hadn’t thought anything of it—she probably wanted to swap info, or run an idea by him, everyone knew he was the man with the plan—until Cora asked if he wanted to split a shake with her.

“I don’t really—share food,” he answered, trying to think of a polite way to say, ‘I’m starving and I need the calories, order your own damn shake.’

“Even on dates?” she asked.

Stiles tried not to spray his food across the table. It was mostly a success. Cora reached across the table anyway to pat his back. “Breathe, Stiles,” she instructed, and he tried to do that, too.

“I didn’t know that’s what this was,” he said, after a beat. Cora seemed like the calmest werewolf he’d met so far, but that wasn’t saying too much. “I kind of thought you and Isaac—”

“He’s very sweet,” Cora said firmly, “and a very nice guy, but he’s not really my type.”

“And I—am?”

Cora rolled her eyes, which, it was weird to find someone making fun of him hot, right? 

“You’re smart, funny, well-organized and clearly a leader so, yes, that would make you exactly what I’m looking for,” she said, and Stiles tried not to beam at that, but the look she threw his way suggested he’d failed. “Unless you’re not interested—”

“I didn’t say that,” Stiles said quickly and his hand moved towards Cora’s, seemingly of its own accord, like he could actually hold a werewolf in place if he wanted to. She took pity on him after a second of his hand hovering in the air, covering it with her own before pushing it back down to the table.

“So, shake?” she asked. 

Later on, when they were walking back to Stiles’ car, Cora asked, “Do you want to come back to my house and hang out?”

Stiles was pretty sure that he’d died and gone to heaven. A heaven where beautiful, brunette werewolves actually thought he was awesome enough to—fool around with.

“Yeah, is that cool?” he asked, trying for nonchalant. He didn’t really think he’d made it.

“I live alone,” Cora said, and this time Stiles just choked on his own spit. Cora pretended not to notice. “One of the benefits of not being in high school anymore, you know?”

“Totally,” Stile said, even though he thought that living alone sounded kind of shitty. Even Derek had Peter and Isaac.

“Cool,” Cora said, and slipped her hand in his. Stiles tried not to freak out. This was—good, this was what he’d been hoping for, ever since he realized that his thing (if he could even call it that, it wasn’t like it had ever been more than a stupid, unrequited crush) with Lydia was never going to go anywhere. It was fine, it was—whatever, it wasn’t like realizing the last seven years of his life being a waste had completely crushed him or anything. He was fine. 

And this was good, this was—he was in the best shape of his life, between lacrosse and werewolves, he’d finally grown his hair out a little, he was a catch. There was no reason he couldn’t go out with Cora, or Lisa, from English class, or anybody that he wanted to, there was nothing holding him back. He could be suave; he could—toy with some girls, if he felt like it. Stiles winced. That sounded even worse in his head that he’d thought it would. He didn’t really think he was the kind of guy—he liked the idea of dating someone, being with the same person, holding hands or making out on the couch, not having a bunch of meaningless, yet hot, sex with different people. But maybe he and Cora could have something more.

Later on, after Cora had knocked him out, tied him to the bed, and started rifling through his bag, looking for his flash drive, Stiles had to conclude that yeah; he was definitely not cut out for one-night stands. Especially since there was at least a 90% chance that any person he picked up and brought home would be a supernatural creature of the night with dubious motives. 

“I mean, you could have just asked,” he said to Cora’s back. They hadn’t gotten past second base and Stiles wondered if it would have hurt more, or less, if they’d actually had sex before she flipped him over and tied him to the headboard. Probably more. “I probably would have just given it to you.”

“But my way was much more fun, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, testing the strength of the ropes around his wrists. “Real fun.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Cora said, straightening with his Darth Vader flash drive in one hand. “If you were a wolf, you’d be able to tell that I wasn’t faking it. I do like you.”

“You just like the Alpha pack better, is that it?”

“Something like that,” she said. She bent down and kissed him once, lightly. Stiles tried to pull away, but there wasn’t anywhere he could go. “We could have had a really good time, actually, but I’m not stupid enough to start a turf war over you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Stiles snapped. Pissing off the werewolf who had you restrained and at their mercy, not the best idea, but Stiles was humiliated enough at this point that he didn’t give a fuck.

“I mean, it’s obvious that you’re already spoken for,” Cora said casually. “And I value my head too much to lose it over you.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles said, but she was already backflipping out the window like a showoff. 

 

2\. Kali

“So it’s the alpha thing,” Stile said. He couldn’t help it, he had hoped that at some point, he would develop an immunity to running his mouth off around beautiful, deadly, supernatural creatures, but it didn’t look like that day had come yet. 

Kali just cocked an eyebrow at him. It was really sexy, coming from someone who had claws on her feet. Stiles had also hoped that at some point, he would stop getting inappropriate boners around beautiful, deadly, supernatural creatures, but he’d missed the train on that one, too.

“If you weren’t an alpha, you’d be all over this,” Stiles clarified, because he wanted to die before Scott came to rescue him. Clearly. “You’d want to tap this? Are you up to date with the current slang, or should I use something more, uh, archaic? I mean, I wasn’t imagining the sexual tension back there, was I.”

He didn’t really phrase it as a question, because the longer Kali stared at him without speaking, the more he felt his chances for survival decline. Actually felt it, like a heavy weight in his gut that was slowly dragging him to the ground. He didn’t really want his last moment on earth to be another rejection.

“No,” Kali said, and jesus, did she have an amazing voice. If Stiles weren’t already verging on terrified arousal, that alone would have brought him right over the edge. “You weren’t imagining it.”

Stiles felt himself perk up a little. At least he had one thing going for him, moments before death: an alpha werewolf, hot enough to rival Derek, actually thought they’d had a thing. Not enough of a thing to spare him from a messy, painful death, obviously, but still. A condemned man couldn’t complain. 

“So, on the off chance that we both make it out of here alive—I mean, I’m not making any bets, I think we both know that’s unlikely—but if we do, what, dinner and a movie?” Stiles was only half kidding: look, it had been a long six months since the alpha pack came to town and he had a nasty feeling that when the smoke cleared, he might not still be standing. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and he was going to fight like hell to stick around—for his dad, for Scott, and yeah, for himself—so a little extra motivation wouldn’t hurt.

Kali smiled. It was a nice smile, for a homicidal lycanthrope. If Stiles pretended they were just two normal people—two strangers hanging out in an industrial car park at midnight, yeah, totally normal—he’d probably be halfway in love with her just from that. “I’m not the one doing the fighting tonight,” she said.

“What is that supposed to mean? Wait, is fighting a courtship thing for werewolves? If you kick someone’s ass, does it get you really pumped up to—date,” he said, stumbling over the substitution at the last second. Kali looked like she knew what he’d been thinking and her smile widened. Jesus.

“If I intended to claim you, I’d have to fight for you. But tonight, you’re bait—Deucalion will be doing the work.”

“Fight for me?” Stiles said, incredulously. “I’m surprised your alpha nose can’t, like, sniff out virginity. In case you hadn’t noticed—and I know we’re not exactly bosom buddies, here—no one’s exactly knocking down my door to take me out.”

“Aren’t they?” Kali asked. “You already have an alpha knocking on your window every night.”

Stiles scoffed. “Derek? First of all, it’s not every night. And second of all, those aren’t booty calls, they’re strategy sessions.” Away from the moronic arguing of the rest of the pack, but Stiles wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud. “Half the time, all he does is shove me against the wall and try to intimidate me.”

Kali was in his space so suddenly that Stiles hadn’t even seen her move. He could hear his heartbeat kick into overdrive as she grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him so effortlessly that he might as well have been made of tissue. Swallowing was suddenly much harder than it had any right to be. 

She leaned in, cheek barely brushing his jaw. There was a second of panic—holy shit, what if she bites me, what if she kills me—before Kali tilted her head just so, grazing her lips across his face and towards his ear.

“And don’t you think he knows exactly how much you like that?” she asked. “How it just pushes all your buttons?” She pulled back just far enough for Stiles to meet her eyes. Her smile was—well, it was wolfish. “Because I certainly do. In fact, that’s one of the reason we chose you. Your bond with the alpha.”

In the distance a wolf howled. “Wait, what?” Stiles asked, and then all hell broke loose. 

 

3\. Lydia

Stiles was dreaming. 

He had to be dreaming.

Because there was no reality—even one where werewolves existed and Stiles was tentatively labeled as “pack” and there was an actual pack of alphas, what the fuck, running around Beacon Hills—where Lydia Martin, the redheaded goddess of his dreams, was trailing her fingers down the side of his face and looking at him, actually looking at him, like he was the man of her dreams.

Stiles tried to pinch himself, subtly. Lydia narrowed her eyes as he flinched.

“What—oh, please. If this were a dream, I doubt I’d be wearing this much clothing.”

“That is—probably true,” Stiles allowed. “So it’s a spell? Or a potion? Have you ingested any strange liquids lately, maybe something wolfsbane-laced?”

“You know I’m immune,” Lydia said frostily. She took a deep breath and visibly settled herself. “Is it so hard to believe that this is happening?”

“Yes,” Stiles said firmly. “Seriously, Lydia, you ignored me for the first fifteen years of our lives, so yeah, little hard to believe.”

“And in the last year, you’ve gone from being another person lying to me about the existence of the supernatural to the only one who was willing to help me try to save Jackson. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that.”

Stiles could admit that, okay, dragging himself out of a pit of misery and despair to drive his Jeep into the kanima version of Jackson had been a pretty badass moment. And after everything was over and done in the warehouse, Lydia had pulled away from Jackson (wearing pants at that point, thankfully) and walked up to Stiles, who was standing a good foot away from where Scott and Allison were trying to communicate deep and complicated feelings using only their eyebrows.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Stiles had said, trying to play it off cool. Lydia hadn’t, and she hadn’t mentioned much of anything the last few months, but now she was sitting close enough that Stiles could wrap an arm around her waist if he wanted to, pull her into him and hold her there.

“Okay,” Stiles said, and he was man enough to admit that his voice wavered a little. Look, it had been eight years of pining over Lydia and the—toying with new girls, it still sounded so stupid in his head, god—was not going as well as he’d hoped. 0 for 2 and all. Not to mention being constantly surrounded by people—werewolves—individuals—who looked like they’d just stepped off a runway. Derek alone—Stiles was allowed a little weakness. 

“So do you want to—” he began, trailing off in the hopes that Lydia would just pick an idea and run with it. He wasn’t picky. 

“Yes,” she said, totally answering the question and avoiding it at the same time. “Are we going to be interrupted, or can you stay?”

“No, I can stay,” Stiles said. Shit, was he supposed to be playing hard to get? It was hard to think with Lydia still touching him. “I mean, I have a thing, tonight at ten—”

“Near by, or do you need to leave early? I’m trying to get a sense of how long we have here,” she clarified. 

“McCarren Park,” Stiles said, throat dry as Lydia leaned even closer, almost nuzzling his face. “Out by the baseball field, you know?”

“Yes,” Lydia said and, shit, wait, she was pulling back from him, standing, wiping her hands together to dislodge the dirt from them. What had he—

“Thanks,” she offered, flipping her hair over one shoulder and back into perfect place. Off his startled look, she said, “no one else would tell me where the meeting is and I need to be there. Don’t bother trying to reschedule now, they’ll never agree to it.”

“Guess I was right to be skeptical,” Stiles said, trying not to feel completely and utterly crushed that the one-time love of his life had just rekindled his crush, suckered him out of confidential information without even having to kiss him, and then dropped him right back to the floor again. Damn, she was good.

“Don’t feel too bad,” Lydia said, patting him on one shoulder. “I could have slept with you and then really crushed your spirit.”

“Thanks for that, Lydia, you’re really a saint, how did I miss it?”

Lydia only scoffed. “As though you wouldn’t do the same if it were Scott or Derek on the line.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles said.

 

4\. Laura

Communicating with a dead alpha werewolf whose vivisected body he’d once dug up definitely wasn’t the strangest thing Stiles had done all year, but he was uncomfortable with just how high on that list trying to speak to Laura Hale really was. 

Deaton said that it was necessary, though, and lately, Stiles’ only reply when faced with increasingly weird-ass requests was, “how high?” The alpha pack was forcing everyone to do a lot of shit they didn’t want to, so there was nothing to do but nut up, ignore the chills crawling up his spine, and try to summon a dead spirit. 

A part of Stiles had been hoping that it hadn’t worked; he wasn’t really looking forward to cluing Laura into how her uncle had ripped her in half before Derek slashed his throat. And he definitely didn’t want to admit that some well-planned magic had allowed her killer to rise from the dead. Mostly that was because he’d been imagining Laura as a grumpy, female version of Derek who threatened to rip his throat out- with her teeth¬- if he didn’t shut the hell up.

“Hey,” Stiles said, when an insubstantial, smoky, vaguely female-shaped figure appeared in front of him. “Hi. Laura. Don’t freak out—“

“If I didn’t freak out when that she-wolf sliced open a kid’s throat with her feet, I’m sure as shit not going to freak out over a little summoning, Stiles.”

“Oh,” he said. “So I guess I don’t really—”

“Skip the back story; I watched it all go down. Get to the part where we tear these guys apart.”

Laura was actually really cool; if Stiles didn’t know she and Derek were siblings, he would never have been able to guess it. Okay, there were a few things: Laura had a wicked sense of humor and Stiles almost lost it a few times when she offered a really snide or cutting comment about someone in Beacon Hills. Derek was funny, too, but it took a lot to get to the jokes; Laura was more open, even as an undead smoke monster, and Stiles made himself depressed when he realized that Derek would probably have been the same, if it weren’t for the fire. 

“It’s been fun,” Stiles said, when they were pretty much done with the Q&A. Laura was sitting down next to him and she nudged him with an insubstantial shoulder. It felt like someone tickling him with a feather duster. “Listen, I’m really sorry about—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Laura said. “I probably would have gone looking for a dead body, too. This town can be so boring.”

Stiles snorted out a laugh. “Not lately.”

“Yeah,” Laura said. Their faces were close enough that it would only take an inch, a little push to bring them together. If Laura were alive. Stiles thought about it—did it really qualify as necrophilia? On a scale of one to “we’re probably all going to die within a month,” how bad would it really be to make out with the spirit of a dead werewolf? Was it even possible? He moved closer to Laura without really thinking about it, and she pulled back.

Great. Now he couldn’t even pick up signals from a ghost. Stiles was going to walk away from all this as the saddest, most pathetic virgin in all of Beacon Hills. Maybe California. Part of him was starting to wish for a mercy killing from the alphas, just to put him out of his misery. 

“Stiles—”

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. Look, it’s just been a really shitty year and I’d kind of not like to die a loser virgin, so—”

“So you decided to hit on the one person you are physically incapable of fucking?” Laura asked. Stiles gaped a little and she rolled her eyes. “You know the expression, if you can’t say it—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stile said. “You just seemed like you were interested.”

“You’re not hard on the eyes,” Laura admitted, “and if I were still kicking it, I’d probably think about it. But it’s a little weird to hook up with your sibling’s crush, you know?”

“Wait, what?” Stiles said.

 

5\. Erica

When Erica came back—when she walked out of the Preserve one day and right up to Derek’s porch like it was nothing, like she’d just gone off for a smoke or a beer, stepped out for a few minutes before returning—it felt like a sign. She’d walked out of the trees looking—fine, normal, not like she’d spent the last few months being strung up and tortured, which is what Stiles dreamt about on a pretty regular basis. One second they’d been arguing, Scott in Derek’s facing, Stiles trying to push between them and defuse this weird tension that was suddenly always there when the whole group got together, and the next, Erica had appeared, backlit by the sun, and everyone just—stopped. 

Stiles remembered thinking, crazily, of Gandalf and the words “I come back to you now at the turn of the tide.” So he was a LotR geek, so sue him. It felt like a game-changer, was the point, and after fighting for so long, he would take anything that gave them the slightest edge over the alphas.

He wanted Erica to be that edge. 

She was—the same, but different, too, which made sense, Stiles thought. Being kidnapped (even if she’d been leaving town at the time), being held captive for months (even if she said that the alphas hadn’t done anything to her—just wanted her out of the way, although no one could figure out why), and then coming back into a pack that was in the middle of war had to be rough on a person. She was still big brown eyes and plenty of sass, but she also sat sandwiched between Stiles and Boyd during pack meetings now, always curled into one or the other, like she needed someone at her three and nine. Stiles couldn’t blame her for being jumpy. What he could blame her for, though, were her wandering hands.

“Seriously?” Stiles asked, slapping her away for the millionth time. “Did I become werewolf-nip while you were gone, or what?”

They were alone at Derek’s, everyone else out on reconnaissance missions (the wolves) or working on a super-secret plan which Stiles had been forbidden, at least five times already, to know about (Lydia). Stiles and Erica were “guarding the house,” which meant that Derek didn’t want them wandering around Beacon Hills. Six months ago, Stiles would have been pissed at the implication that either he or Erica couldn’t take care of themselves (she was a badass werewolf! He was the spark! It wasn’t like they were just dead weight), but Stiles was honestly too tired to give a shit what any one thought of the weak human add-on anymore. He was still hoping, every time he closed his eyes, that he would wake up and the whole thing would be over, whoops, slept right through the big battle which was really just the alphas turning tail (hah) and running. It hadn’t happened yet, but Stiles was an optimist. Occasionally. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Erica shot back and, yeah, Stiles had to admit that he did. One thing that had remained pretty constant over the sheer madness that was the last nine months was that the only loving Stiles was getting was self-loving. And he wasn’t happy about it. How many other guys had had limitless—okay, four if you counted Laura—opportunities in the last nine months to get laid and had failed so epically? Honestly, it had probably happened to at least one other guy, but if Stiles didn’t know him personally, it didn’t really help with the sting of rejection. So maybe it was sad, or pathetic, or any of a host of other adjectives, to get excited that he had a beautiful blonde quasi-feeling him up on couch, but Stiles had to take his kicks where he could get them and he wasn’t too proud to admit it. 

Stiles didn’t bother responding, and the next time Erica’s hand settled on his thigh, he let it stay. 

Or he would have, if Erica had just left it there, like every time before that, but she didn’t. Instead, after only a minute, her fingers started to move, skating up and down Stiles’ leg with just the slightest pressure. Considering Stiles was a horny seventeen year-old (another thing he wasn’t ashamed to admit), it only took about two minutes for the whole situation to get uncomfortable. 

“Seriously, Erica, knock it off. Can’t a guy watch Die Hard in peace?” Stiles was aiming for friendly and joking, but he knew his voice was strained. 

When he turned his head, Erica was pouting, a fake expression if Stiles ever saw one (and he had. He’d actually seen many). “That hurts, Stiles. I thought we were friends.”

“We are, which is why I don’t understand this sudden obsession with—touching me, is this werewolf-PTSD or something?”

“What about if we amended that,” Erica said, totally not answering Stiles’ question and veering off into a direction that he didn’t understand.

“Amended what?”

“The friends part,” Erica said slowly. “What if we made it friends with benefits?”

Stiles choked a little. “What? Are you propositioning me?” 

She smiled toothily. “I guess that depends on your answer.”

“Is this a joke,” Stiles asked, making a show of looking around. “Is this Candid Camera, or Punk’d, or is the entire pack about to pop out from behind the furniture and jump on us, or what?”

“The only one who’s about to jump on you is me,” Erica said, rising and turning so that she was—holy god—straddling his lap. Stiles went from ‘uncomfortably aroused’ to ‘Jesus fucking christ I’m about to come’ in less time than it would have taken to say the words. She slid forward so that her arms were around Stiles’ neck.

“Come on, Stiles,” she said, eyes locked on his. “You do know that Batman and Catwoman did it, right?”

“Um,” Stiles said. His head thunked back against the couch when Erica started wiggling her hips. “Yes, I did know that, actually.”

“Oh, good,” Erica said. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Stiles.”

That was when the alpha twins burst through the front door, fangs out and eyes flashing. Stiles tried to rise, to push Erica to the side, but she was a dead weight on his lap, her own eyes flashing beta gold as she held him down.

“Sorry,” Erica said, much later, once Dumb and Dumber had tied him up with magically reinforced rope. Apparently they had a mage on their side, too: Stiles was pissed. “I wasn’t kidding, though.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles said. “Seriously, in the universe of things that I’m pissed at you about, that is so far down the list that it barely makes it on right now.”

Erica looked guilty; good, Stiles hoped she felt about this for the rest of her goddamned life. “Really, though,” she said. “We make a good team and you’re so—”

“Save it,” Stiles spat out, still struggling against the rope even though he knew it was hopeless. “I’m so not buying that shit anymore. Universe, I get it: nobody wants to fuck Stiles. You don’t need to send another five people down here to rub it in my face, God, I can take a hint.”

“Derek does.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles said, and then the rest of the pack burst through a wall—literally burst through, knocked it down like it was made of cardboard—and whatever Erica was about to say was lost in a flash of gunpowder. 

 

6\. Derek

When the battle was over—when Deucalion’s head was a bloody mess on the floor and Kali was a pile off scraps under Erica’s vengeful fangs and Isaac was licking blood off his claws like that was normal, jesus christ— Stiles had a moment to think, holy shit, that’s it, before his knees went out from under him.

He would have fallen face-first into a pile of blood and viscera, someone’s severed arm (oh, fuck) but suddenly there were a pair of arms around his waist and he sagged into them, knowing it was Derek without even having to turn his head.

(Later, sitting on the edge of the preserve and staring out over the lights of Beacon Hills, one hand clutching the earth because it’s the only way to keep himself grounded, Stiles will say, “they all told me—”

“Told you what,” Derek will ask, tone impossibly light, sounding nothing like a man who has killed to keep them all safe, who sent Erica into the lion’s den to be their savior, who threw himself against a wall of mountain ash to get to Stiles, no matter how much it hurt him to do so.

“Nothing,” Stiles will say, suddenly, “nothing I didn’t already know.” Derek will look at him for a beat, puzzled but fond, the way he sometimes looks at Stiles, not that he’s ever recognized that before, and Stiles will add, “They were all right, though.”)


End file.
